


Letting Go to Live

by the_gramophone



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College, Fluff, Future Fic, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Mild torture, Pining Stiles, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_gramophone/pseuds/the_gramophone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a grateful witch gives Derek a gift for helping her coven, it leaves Stiles unsure of his place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letting Go to Live

**Author's Note:**

> None of this would have been possible without my beautiful betas/cheerleaders/awesome people Ruthann and Sarah! Thank you so much for helping me!
> 
> This was just a random idea that came to me one day and I thought, hey I'll write a little one-shot about it. And now I'm here :)
> 
> If you're curious, in my personal version of the future of TW, Ethan, Aidan, and Cora have all stuck around, and Danny was eventually brought into the know. This takes place after their sophomore year of college, and Peter has been long vanquished.
> 
> If you're concerned about the tags, I go by the school of over-warning rather than under, so there is really very mild violence in it, but be forewarned. 
> 
> Also, the astute eye may notice that I littered this with references to TV witches, because I'm a nerd like that :)

Stiles ran through the woods, branches whipping his face, his heart pounding. It figured that one of the few times their plan didn’t involve using him as bait, he ended up as monster catnip anyway. 

He decided to consider it a compliment. It got him through the day. 

Suddenly, the ravine loomed in front of him. He hadn’t thought he was running in that direction, but okay. He stumbled to a halt mere feet away from the edge and pants, leaning forward on his knees, desperately thinking for a way out. 

The wind changed direction, bringing with it the sound of softly murmured Latin. 

“Oh, shit,” Stiles muttered to himself. That was never a positive sign. 

A figure emerged from the tree line, the moonlight shining off her shining white outfit. The effect was marred by her dirty, greasy hair and the chunks of skin and flesh flaking off of her with every step. 

“You have ruined everything,” she hissed as she stalked closer, “You must pay for the crimes of your pack.”

Stiles looked around frantically. Behind him was a fifty foot drop into a river, and ahead of him was … that. He could only hope that someone was on their way, although he had no idea if there was. With no rescue in sight, he decided to do one of the things he did best.

Annoy her until she got so fed up she left. 

“Heeyyyy undead lady,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “So, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Silence!” she snapped. “Your voice offends me.”

Stiles nodded. “I see what you mean, and honestly, not the first time I’ve heard that” – which is true, unfortunately – “and I can see why you’re upset. So your coven decided they wanted a new leader! That sucks. And yeah, maybe trying to sacrifice them to the gods and then challenging the new leader to a death match didn’t work out so well, but honestly, don’t you think you should let this go? It’s been what, a year? You have to have something better to be doing.”

The woman’s face contorted with fury, and she shrieked, an ungodly sound that echoed shrilly through the ravine. “You insolent brat!” she snarled. 

“You obviously haven’t spent the last year practicing your snarl,” Stiles continued. Please God, someone show up soon. She was still getting closer, seemingly unmoved by his attempts to annoy her. Unfortunately he had no other plan than falling to his death instead of being hacked to death. “I run with werewolves, remember? You’re going to have to do the homework if you want to impress me.”

The words had barely left Stiles’ mouth when a furious snarl came from the forest. “See?” Stiles said, pointing behind her. “That was commitment. Really got the message across, didn’t it?”

The woman turned to face the sound, and Stiles darted to the right, slipping past her and away from the edge. 

“You should not test me, half-beast,” she said, raising her arms. “I have powers the likes of which you have never seen, and never will again. I will eviscerate you for daring to interfere.”

Stiles was excited to learn that werewolves can still roll their eyes when their faces are turned. 

Derek howled, and answering howls echoed through the trees. The woman shrieked again and a sickly green mist began forming around her hands. “You will regret this!” she screamed. The mist began creeping towards Derek, reaching for him with half-formed hands. 

Derek howled again. An arrow came whistling out of nowhere, striking the woman in the heart. 

She laughed, the sound turning ugly and hateful in her mouth. “You fools! No weapon or claw will harm me. You cannot kill a dead woman!”

“No,” a cool voice came from behind Stiles. He spun around to find Allison and Lydia standing at the edge of the trees, Allison with her bow notched and ready and Lydia holding a large tome in her hands. “But you can send her back to hell where she belongs,” Allison said calmly. 

Lydia began reading from the book, chanting in archaic Latin that was straight over Stiles’ head. As she spoke, the air crackled with electricity. A tree fell in the distance, and clouds gathered overhead. 

“No!” the woman screamed. “I will not allow it! I will not –" Her voice cut out abruptly as a bolt of lightning streaked from the sky, striking her and turning her to dust. 

There was a long silence. A breeze blew through, cooling the sweat from Stiles’ brow and blowing the dust into the ravine. 

“Well you can’t say God isn’t interested in the little guys down here,” Stiles said. “Nice of Him to help out for once.”

Lydia huffed. “Don’t ever give someone else credit for what I do, Stiles,” she said, and turned on her heel to march back to the parking lot. 

Allison grinned. “I’m driving Lydia back. I’ll see you guys later.” With that, she also disappeared into the forest. 

Stiles turned around to smile at Derek. “So! Any big plans?” he asked lightly. 

Derek shrugged, smiling. “A shower, probably,” he said walking forward to meet him. “The mist left a strange feeling on my skin.”

Stiles made a herculean effort to not think about Derek in the shower tonight. He failed. 

“Uh, yeah?” he said, coughing. “No crazy hijinks planned? It’s not often we vanquish evil before 11.”

Derek chuckled, a sound which never failed to make Stiles slightly weak-kneed, and shook his head. “I’m planning to celebrate by getting a full night’s sleep,” he replied wryly. “Those are rare enough that they’re a luxury in and of themselves.”

“You’re a wild man, Derek Hale,” Stiles told him. “John Hughes is jealous of the shenanigans you get up to.” 

Derek rolled his eyes. “Well, I’ve never spent an entire day in detention or had my underwear stolen, so I’ll count my blessings.”

And now Stiles was thinking about Derek’s underwear. He wondered what sort he wore, if he ever went au natural when wandering around the woods like a hobo, or if he bought those expensive Calvin Klein briefs. Suddenly Stiles realized that while his mind had gone to the Bad Place, Derek had been waiting for him to speak, and was now just staring at him – and probably smelling him. Fantastic. 

“Uh, well you’ve never lived in Chicago so I suppose you weren’t going to qualify anyway,” he said awkwardly. 

Derek smiled again, the sight taking Stiles’ breath away a little. He stepped closer, drawn to the warmth of Derek’s smile like a moth to light. Derek, amazingly enough, didn’t blink or move away, staring down at Stiles patiently as if he had been waiting for him to do just that. 

“Derek,” Stiles began softly. 

Suddenly a bright light flooded the area. Stiles threw an arm over his eyes and stumbled back from the force of it. “What the fuck?”

The light was as gone as soon as it came, and in its place stood a pretty woman with flowing brown hair, lavender robes, and an ecstatic smile. 

“Derek Hale!” she exclaimed, rushing forward. “You’ve done it! You’ve freed us!”

Derek nodded, blushing slightly. “I’m glad we could help, Mrs. Halliwell. Your coven should be safe from now on.”

Mrs. Halliwell threw her arms around Derek and hugged him tightly. “You have no idea what this means to us,” she said, sniffing. “To spend a year in constant fear of that monster…it was horrible.”

Derek cast a panicked look over her head at Stiles when it became clear she was not planning on letting go soon. Stiles smirked back and waved cheekily. It was good for Derek’s self-esteem to get some positive reinforcement from the people he helped, he decided. Far be it for him to deny Derek the experience. 

She sniffed again and finally released Derek. “When she took poor Valerie’s little boy, we were sure that there was nothing we could do to stop her. But moments ago he reappeared in her kitchen, perfectly safe, and we knew that you and your pack had been successful. However can we thank you for all you’ve done?”

Derek cleared his throat. “There’s really no need, ma’am,” he said quietly. “I’m just happy that everyone is safe.” Stiles knew in that moment Derek was thinking of all the people in his life he had never been able to save, and Stiles’ heart ached for him.

Mrs. Halliwell smiled warmly. “But I must,” she said gently. “You have a good soul, and you have known too much pain in your short life.” She paused, tilting her head, then nodded decisively. “I will grant you a boon, for your help. There are many things I cannot give you, but there is a wrong that I can right in your life. A tragedy that was never meant to occur. I hope you will use this as an opportunity to forgive yourself, and grow into your new life with the same peace you have given us.”

Derek stared at Mrs. Halliwell, face impassive. Stiles’ thoughts were running wild. What did she mean? Was she going to send him back in time? Because they killed a demon for messing with time last month, and he thought there would be complicated moral repercussions if they allowed her to do the same…

Mrs. Halliwell lifted her hands and placed them on Derek’s heart. Another light flashed, and she was gone. 

Stiles looked around, confused. “What was that?” 

Derek looked uncertain, and a little scared. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, staring into the forest. “I don’t feel any different.”

A movement behind Derek caught Stiles’ attention. A slight, pale figure clad in a modest black dress stumbled forward, her hair mussed and her steps wobbly. She stepped on a twig, and Derek whirled around. 

Immediately his whole body went stiff. He stared at the girl, face ashen. 

“Paige.”

Stiles started. “Paige? As in …?”

If Derek heard him, he gave no sign of it. Paige looked around with wide, wild eyes, clearly frightened as she stopped in her tracks. 

“Hello?” she asked, voice hoarse with years of disuse. “Do – do I know you? I don’t know where I am.”

“Do you remember your name?” Derek asked quietly, face intent on her. 

“Paige,” she replied. “Paige Krasikeva. You look familiar. Do I know you?”

Derek hesitated. “You do. It’s been several years. Do you need to sit down?”

Paige shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, you’re shaking,” Derek said, striding forward and slipping out of his jacket. “Here, take this.” He laid it gently over her shoulders, hands lingering as he pulled away. 

Stiles was unsure what to do. Obviously Paige and Derek had some catching up to do, and he didn’t want to be in the way. On the other hand, if they needed his help, he shouldn't bail. 

He looked over to where Paige and Derek were standing. Derek was now facing Paige, hands on her shoulders as he spoke, too softly for Stiles to hear. Paige’s face collapsed as she listened, and she pitched forward into his arms, weeping. 

He should definitely get out of here, Stiles decided, and crept back through the trees. As he crossed the tree line, he looked back on the two figures in the clearing. Paige was still crying in Derek’s arms as he patted her hair. Stiles decided that there was absolutely no reason for the horrible sinking feeling in his gut, and turned to leave. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Derek called a pack meeting the next day. Stiles arrived early, lugging with him a few reference books he thought they may need. In the five years since Scott had been turned, Stiles had accumulated as many books as he could on any supernatural topic. He figured you never knew what the next thing might be and there was no reason not to be prepared. 

As he walked into the house, he heard laughter coming from the kitchen. Intrigued, he followed the sound to find Derek and Paige by the counter, covered in flour and gasping with laughter. Stiles cleared his throat, and Paige jumped, knocking over a container of milk, causing Derek to start laughing even harder. 

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “This place is such a mess; I promise I’ll clean it up.”

Derek chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve been through a trauma, you should be resting. Stiles can help me clean up.”

Paige turned to Stiles, smiling sheepishly. “Hi!” she said brightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself last night. My name is Paige Krasikeva.”

“Hi,” Stiles said, shaking her hand. “I’m Stiles. I’m a – uh – friend of Derek’s,” he said awkwardly. He didn’t know how much Derek had told her yet, and would really prefer to not be the one spilling the werewolf beans this time. He had had that conversation enough for one lifetime. 

Paige sat on a stool and watched as Stiles moved to help Derek wipe down the counters. “Are you part of his pack?” she asked after a few minutes had passed. 

Stiles glanced at Derek to check his reaction. He nodded slightly in response, and returned to trying to work some flour out of the burner on the stove. “Yeah,” Stiles said. “I’m a human though. More of a handy sidekick than anything.”

Paige nodded. “Do you think I’m a werewolf?” she asked suddenly. “I mean, it is how I died.”

Derek stopped wiping the counter and turned to face her. “I doubt it,” he said. “You would feel different. Plus, your body rejected the bite. It’s why you died.”

Paige opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and the rest of the pack piling inside. Moments like this made Stiles glad that Derek had made the decision to use his inheritance to rebuild the Hale House. It was nice for the pack to have a place that could be a home away from home for all of them. Not to mention it was nice that there was room for the seemingly inevitable werewolf roughhousing they always seemed to turn to. 

Derek twisted the towel in his hands as everyone trooped into the kitchen. It was almost as if he was nervous, although Stiles wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and everyone by this point had a vague idea at least of who Paige had been to him. 

Once everyone had pulled up a stool or a chair and were huddled around the plate of cookies Paige pulled out – an earlier successful batch from their attempts at baking, apparently – Derek cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“I’m sure you’re wondering who this is,” he said. “Mrs. Halliwell, the witch from last night, decided to grant me a gift for helping her.”

Scott scrunched his face. “So she got you a person?” he asked disbelievingly. “Sounds a little Medieval, dude.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “This is Paige Krasikeva. I knew her in high school.”

“I thought she was dead?” Isaac asked. 

“Wait a minute,” Lydia interrupted. “Allison and I did most of the work! Why didn’t we get gifts?” 

“You still didn’t really answer my question,” Scott added. “Why is she here?”

“If you’ll let me finish,” Derek said loudly, glaring around the room at everyone equally. Everyone immediately quieted. Derek didn’t get all alpha-y on them much anymore, having learned some valuable lessons about leadership styles during his brief time as a beta a few years back, so when he did they tried their best to respect it. “Paige has been dead for about ten years.”

Everyone reacted a little differently. Cora’s eyes widened in recognition, Scott gagged, Isaac began unsubtly sniffing the air. Allison narrowed her eyes distrustfully, and Lydia leaned forward at Paige with a curious glint in her eyes. Aiden looked bored by it all, and Ethan put a protective arm around Danny, who rolled his eyes. Paige shrank back, seemingly overwhelmed by the attention.

“Nicely done, dude,” Stiles said sarcastically. “Ten out of ten for tact. There is no way you could have phrased that better.”

“I’m sorry Stiles,” Derek snapped. “I missed this chapter in Emily Post. What would have been the appropriate way to tell them?” 

“Well you could have let her say it,” Stiles said. “She was the dead one!”

“Nice. Who’s being tactful now?”

“If you’re quite done,” Lydia interrupted. “I have questions.”

Scott sighed and grabbed another cookie. “Of course you do.”

Lydia flipped her hair and turned her shoulder to him. “What do we know about this? How do we know for sure that it’s her? It could be a demon possessing her body. And if it is her, is it permanent?”

Derek shifted uncomfortably. “Mrs. Halliwell didn’t say,” he replied. 

“Are you saying I might not be alive this time?” Paige asked hesitantly. 

“Never fear!” Stiles said triumphantly, sliding off his stool to the pile of books he had left piled by the entrance. “I’ve been reading since last night on anything I could think of that seemed to relate. Now, as for the demon thing, there are a few ways you can test it. The easiest way would be to – sorry, Paige – cut her and see if she bleeds.”

Derek frowns. “Is there a way that doesn’t hurt her?”

“The other option would be to make a very complicated potion that would take a month to brew and must only be administered to the person in question on the full moon. If she is a demon waiting to kill us, we should probably not wait that long to find out.”

Paige reached a hand toward Derek, patting him on the arm. “It’s fine, I don’t mind. I’ll just give myself a small cut.”

Derek looked torn. “Are you sure?” he asked finally. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Paige smiled wistfully. “You always did think I was going to break like china at the smallest thing,” she said fondly. “I’m fine. Give me a knife.” 

The pack waited with bated breath as she nicked her fingertip. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as a tiny droplet of blood pooled around it.

“So that’s settled,” Stiles said. “Now as for how long it will last. I’ve been doing some cross referencing on the subject with a book on old magic I borrowed from Deaton. The easiest thing to do would be to reach Mrs. Halliwell, but when I called this morning, her husband said the whole coven had gone on a retreat to recover from their experience.”

“So we don’t know anything,” Isaac said flatly.

“Hey!” Stiles protested. “Give me some credit. The problem is that I’m not sure what the nature of the spell was. There are spells for reanimating a corpse, but this doesn’t seem to be that. Paige’s body has been restored to the condition it was in ten years ago, except she’s also aged the appropriate amount. If it was reanimation it would just be a mostly rotted corpse.”

Paige grimaced, and reached for a cookie. Scott helpfully slid the plate over.

“Now, it could have been a spell I found that brings a soul back to earth for the opportunity to complete any unfinished business it might have had.”

“I died at sixteen,” Paige said. “My whole life is unfinished business.”

Stiles nodded. “Right. And the thing is, you’re in corporal form. This spell would have essentially brought the spirit back as a ghost.”

“So we don’t know anything,” Isaac repeated.

Stiles slumped. “Okay, not really,” he said. “But I’ll keep working on it!”

Lydia flicked a finger up to draw their attention. “In the meantime,” she inquired, “what are we going to do with her? All legal records state her as long dead. She doesn’t have a Social Security card, a license, or any possessions.”

“We will look into it,” Derek said firmly. “I’ll try talking to Deaton and see if he has any connections he can use to get her some papers.”

“I’ll talk to my dad,” Allison said. “Some of his friends work in the government. They might be able to pull a few strings.”

“In the meantime,” Lydia said delicately, “we have to take you shopping. You cannot keep walking around in the dress you were buried in. It’s morbid.”

Everyone nodded.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The transformation after Lydia was done with Paige was remarkable. She got a new haircut, a full wardrobe – furnished by Mr. Martin’s credit card. When she wasn’t with Derek, she spent her free time catching up on the last decade with Lydia and Allison. Stiles had to admit, it was easy to see how this charming girl had won young Derek’s heart. Paige was smart, clever, and sarcastic enough to give Stiles a run for his money. Moreover, she clearly cared a great deal for Derek.

Two days after she had come back, Paige asked about Derek’s family while they were gathered in the living room, watching TV.

Derek looked more uncomfortable than Stiles had ever seen him. “It’s hard to explain,” he said finally. “Sort of.”

Paige tilted her head in confusion. “What does that mean?” she asked.

“Hey!” Stiles interrupted hastily, getting to his feet. “I just remembered Deaton has a book he thought I might want to look at. Come on, Scott!”

Scott opened his mouth to protest but was shoved along by Stiles until they were out the door. He did not envy Derek that conversation, but knew it would be easier for him to explain without an audience.

The next time he saw them, Paige seemed quieter. The pack was having a dinner at a local Italian restaurant. Everyone was gathered around the family-style plates of pasta, fighting over the breadsticks, loudly joking and generally making a nuisance of themselves. In the midst of the group, Paige sat next to Derek, watching the proceedings without saying a word.

“So Paige,” Stiles tried from across the table, “what do you think of this place? It just opened last year. We come here all the time because this food, man, so good.”

Paige frowned, and shrugged slightly. Derek glared at Stiles – rather unfairly, Stiles thought indignantly – and put an arm around her shoulder. “Leave her alone, Stiles,” he said gruffly.

And that, that stung. Ever since Paige had come back, Stiles had been shoving the nagging fear about what that meant for him to the back of his head where it wouldn’t bother anyone. The important thing was obviously trying to help Paige adjust, and figuring out how long she had with them. But – Stiles had been _so_ sure that something might finally happen with Derek. They had bypassed “frenemies” in high school, and by the time Stiles was in college, he could say with some certainty that they were, in fact, friends. At first he had started calling Derek to hang out when Scott was busy with Allison or he was bored. But by the time he was home from his freshman year of college he was calling Derek first, texting him throughout the day when he saw something that reminded him of Derek, and spending most of his free time hanging out at the Hale house.

This could have made the raging boner Stiles had had for Derek since they met a little more awkward, but Stiles decided that if no one acknowledged it, then they could all pretend it didn’t exist. Stiles knew that Derek could smell his arousal when he was around – Scott had pointed it out more than once, with some disgust – but Derek had always been polite enough not to bring it up, and that was that. Stiles also had figured that if Derek wanted something to happen, the ball was pretty firmly in his court, and the fact that Derek had never said anything was a pretty obvious answer.

But recently Stiles had thought that maybe he had been overestimating Derek’s ability to communicate his feelings. Stiles often didn’t need to initiate conversations with him anymore when he was at school. He would wake up with a funny text from Derek in the middle of the night, or get snapchats of Derek at work at the coffee shop. When Stiles came home from his sophomore year, he was sure they were heading towards something. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but sometimes he thought he could feel Derek staring at him when they were in a group, glancing away at the last moment when Stiles turned to him. And their movie nights had recently involved less popcorn fights and more sleepy cuddles. The one time Stiles had brought it up, Derek had blushed furiously and given Stiles a ten minute lecture on the importance of puppy piles to pack structure and the genetic need for tactile support. It had been so cute watching Derek flustered that Stiles had decided not to call him on the bullshit.

But it was pretty obvious that whatever had been growing between them was done now. How could Stiles compare to Derek’s first love? Paige was everything Stiles wasn’t, and the few qualities they shared she did better. Her jokes were funnier, her wit faster. She seemed to understand Derek in ways Stiles couldn’t comprehend. What’s more, she had known Derek before his life had turned to hell. When Derek was around her, he seemed softer, younger, more happy. She brought out a gentleness in Derek Stiles had never seen before. He was fiercely protective of her, and had taken a week off work just to look after her.

Stiles could admit to being jealous.

But it was probably for the best. What did he have to offer Derek anyway? He had always been the guy who was chosen second, if at all. He was made to be a sidekick, not the hero. Paige was exactly what Derek needed. And Stiles wanted what was best for him, so he was happy. Even if it killed him a little inside.

He was happy when Derek bought Paige a new cello so she could start playing again. He was happy when they spent a Sunday afternoon turning a guest room into Paige’s bedroom at the house. He was happy when he stopped by the coffee shop and saw Derek leaning over the counter at Paige, smiling fondly at her while she talked.

So he wasn’t that happy. Sue him. He was _trying_ , and that had to be enough for now. Paige was a good person, and so was Derek and they deserved each other. Stiles decided that if he couldn’t be with Derek, he would make Derek as happy as possible. He threw himself headfirst into researching the spell, doubling his efforts to make sure Paige was here to stay. He poured through the Bestiary and all the books on magic he and Deaton owned. He scoured local Wicca bookstores and called Mrs. Halliwell three more times, to no avail.

Stiles suspected Paige was here for good, though. Mrs. Halliwell had called it a gift – and what more evidence do you need that she and Derek were meant to be together, when even death could not keep them apart – and it would be pretty shitty to bring them together again only to kill Paige all over again. Still, he wanted to be positive.

As frustrating as it was to be spending his summer vacation locked up reading dusty old books with absolutely no results, there was a positive. Stiles found himself calling off of more and more pack activities. It was too painful to watch Paige at Derek’s side, heckling the pups during their training exercises. That had once been Stiles’ place. While Derek and Scott shared alpha duties of the pack, Derek handled more of the day to day matters. Scott didn’t know as much about training and lore as Derek did, and so he gladly relinquished those parts to him. When it came to training, Stiles had unofficially been Derek’s second for several years now. He kept the pups in line when they were getting annoying, and got Derek to lighten up when he was stressed. They had relied on each other to keep the pack functioning, and it was hard to see himself being replaced. So he spent what time he had on the road, traveling around the state to various libraries and supernatural bookstores to try to find more information.

About a month after Paige had returned Stiles dropped by the Hale house to check in and found Derek and Paige at the kitchen table, surrounded by pamphlets.

“What’s going on?” he asked, confused.

Derek looked up, and smiled brightly. “Hey, Stiles!” he said. And that in itself was weird. Derek had loosened up over the years, but it was beyond strange to see him cheerful. Stiles wondered if this is how Derek was before the fire, and felt a pang at the thought that only Paige could make him this happy.

“What is all this?” he asked as he sat down.

“Mr. Argent came through with new paperwork for Paige. His friends are good, even if they are hunters. Paige has a new driver’s license and high school transcript. It even shows her working for the past several years at an independently owned bookstore that recently went under. Now that she’s in the system again she’s applying for college,” Derek explained.

Stiles nodded, looking down at a pamphlet in front of him for UC Beacon Hills. “What about your parents?” he asked, waving the pamphlet. “Aren’t you worried they might see you around town?”

Paige bit her look and ducked her head. “They moved away, after I died,” she said quietly. “I haven’t – I mean I’m not sure if I should –“

“We’re going to cross that bridge when Paige is ready,” Derek interrupted smoothly, grabbing Paige’s hand. “Paige knows that the pack is fine with her telling them the truth, but she has all the time in the world to make that decision. Until then, we thought maybe she should stay in town, where she knows people.”

“Right,” Paige smiled. “And I even convinced Derek to sign up for some classes, so I’ll have a study buddy!” Derek flushed and let go of her hand to ruffle through some papers.

“That’s awesome, man!” Stiles said. “I know you’ve wanted to go back for a while.”

Derek kept his eyes focused on his papers and shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I just thought that maybe I should stop putting it off. I’m putting down roots again, might as well make it really official.” Paige nodded along, grinning.

“That’s great,” Stiles said weakly. “I’m happy for you.”

Derek looked up, his brow furrowed. “Stiles,” he began before a shrill ringing cut him off.

“Sorry, that’s me,” Stiles said, digging his phone out of his pocket. “Oh, that’s the librarian from Berkeley. Hold on.” He walked into the living room before hitting answer. “Hello?”

“Mr. Stilinski?” The voice was smooth, lightly accented, and excruciatingly polite. “I understand you had a query in regards to a book from our special collection.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at the euphemism – academics, honestly. “Yes, I’m in the middle of a project that requires it, and you’re the only library on the West Coast that has a copy.”

“I’m afraid we are unable to let such a valuable text leave the library premises,” the man said. “However, if you were willing to make an appointment to view it here, our staff would be happy to accommodate you.”

“Awesome!” Stiles replied. “I mean – that would be good, thank you. When are you free?”

“Would tomorrow at two be amenable? I know it is short notice.”

“No, that’s great,” Stiles said eagerly. “I can make the drive tomorrow morning. Whom should I ask for when I get there?”

“Go to the front desk and ask for Jeremy Kraft. They will direct you to my office.”

“Not a problem,” Stiles said as he jotted the name down on a post-it. “I’ll see you then.”

Stiles walked back into the kitchen. “Good news!” he crowed, waving the post-it note around. “I talked to a woman who owns a Wicca store in San Diego, and she said that even though she had never heard of something like this happening, there’s a rare text that deals specifically with boons from witches. There are only three copies still in existence, and one of them is at Berkeley! I’ve been leaving messages for the special collections guy all week, and he finally got back to me, so I’m going down there tomorrow.” Stiles did a little jig in celebration. He had spent over a month trying to figure this out, and finally, he was going to get some answers.

“That’s incredible!” said Paige warmly. “Thank you so much, Stiles. I know you’ve been putting a lot of time into this.”

“I haven’t minded,” Stiles assured her. “I’m just happy we might figure this out.”

“Why?” Derek said suddenly.

Stiles squinted at him. “Why what? Use your words, buddy.”

Derek scowled. “Why bother? Paige has been here for over a month. I think it’s clear she’s sticking around.”

“Not necessarily,” Stiles argued. “The spell could be that she’s here until she completes her unfinished business. Or it could give her a set amount of time, like a year. We should know for sure what we’re dealing with.”

“Why put that on her?” Derek demanded. “If Paige only has a year, why should she have to carry that over her head every day?”

“I don’t think keeping her in the dark would help!” Stiles snapped. “We still don’t know anything about this. There could be consequences of the spell we need to know about.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” Derek said waspishly. “You’ve been working on this for a month and you don’t know anything. Why do you think this will help?”

Stiles recoiled. “That’s right, I have been working on this for a month,” he said, low and furious. “I haven’t exactly seen you at the library with me. Or in the car, driving all over the coast trying to find answers. I have spent my entire summer trying to help you, and this is the thanks I get? Well, fuck you.”

Derek flinched. “Stiles –"

“No,” Stiles interrupted. “I am trying to do the right thing. If you would rather remain ignorant and pretend everything is dandy and play house, that’s your business. But I am going to figure this out, and what you do with it after that is up to you. But don’t expect me to help you the next time you call me at one in the morning, begging me to help you with something. Because I am so done with this bullshit.” With that, he spun around and marched outside, leaving a shocked Derek and Paige in his wake.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The drive to Berkeley was awful. An accident backed up traffic even more than usual, and Stiles was in a foul mood after barely sleeping the night before. He didn’t know who he had been kidding. Derek was done with Stiles. He had Paige now, in his house, at school, and in his bed. He didn’t even want Stiles researching, which had always been basically the only thing he was good at. He wondered how he could have ever thought Derek might have feelings for him. Stiles had never felt so embarrassed. He was wrong to hope for more. It could lead only to disappointment.

He parked outside the library and jogged inside. Due to some incredibly reckless speeding after he had gotten around the accident, he was only five minutes late. But still, it didn’t look good when he was coming to beg a favor.

Stiles approached the front desk once he entered. The library was almost completely empty. With no students on campus, there appeared to be only a skeleton staff around to maintain things until school started again. A beautiful young woman sat perched behind the front desk, typing on her laptop.

“Hello,” Stiles said politely as he walked up. “I’m looking for a Jeremy Kraft?”

The woman looked up, and smiled. Stiles gulped. There was something predatory about her that made him uneasy. He couldn’t say why, but he had the feeling that he should not trust her.

“Of course, Mr. Stilinski,” she said without missing a beat. “Mr. Kraft instructed me to show you the way.”

“Nah, that’s okay,” Stiles babbled as she walked out from behind the desk. “I’m sure you’ve got work to do, and I could just find my way if you told me where to go.”  
The woman laughed lightly, and shook her head. She wrapped a hand around Stiles’ arm and tugged him along. Her grip was like iron, and Stiles winced at the contact. He tried discreetly pulling his arm loose, but she only tightened her hand. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Stilinski,” she said pleasantly. “We have all been very interested in meeting you.”

Stiles grinned shakily. “Rumors of my stunning good looks getting around?” he joked feebly. The woman ignored him and dragged him into an elevator, hitting the button for the basement.

When they got off the elevator, it was immediately obvious that this was not an area for student use. The hall was dimly lit, and a stark, dingy concrete rather than the beautiful and modern upper floors. The woman stepped confidently off the elevator and pulled Stiles down the hall to the last door. “Here we are,” she said airily, and shoved Stiles into the room before slamming the door shut behind her.

Stiles fell to the ground, and hissed at the contact with the hard concrete floors. The room was pitch black. He hoped he was alone, but he couldn’t be certain. For all he knew, he was surrounded. Stiles climbed shakily to his feet and waved his arm around in front of him before slowly turning around and groping for the wall. Once he found it, he breathed a sigh of relief. Even though he was still completely blind, it was reassuring to have something to ground him.

He inched forward until he found the door. When Stiles tried the door handle, a powerful shock jolted him through the air and onto his back. He groaned, and reached behind to inspect his head. He could already feel a lump growing, and he sighed before sitting up and digging through his backpack to find his phone.

Really, Stiles should have thought of this before, but he had been taken off-guard. He flicked through his phone until he found the torch app. A bright light shined through the room, illuminating the room’s contents for the first time.

It was not a reassuring sight. Against one wall was a table, lined with what were obviously torture devices. There were chains hanging from a hook on the wall, and screws and knives filled the table. Stiles stood again and hobbled over, wincing as he landed on his right foot. He must have twisted his ankle when he fell. Still, he had no choice but to be prepared for whenever they came back for him. He inspected the weapons before picking up one of the sharper knives. It was light, deadly sharp, and fit easily into Stiles’ fist. He figured he could hide it in his hand until an opportunity arose.

The door swung open and Stiles spun around, instinctively throwing the knife at the figure in the doorway. The man caught it easily, and smirked.

“Ah, ah,” he said. “You were not supposed to find that.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left them in the room with me,” Stiles retorted. Maybe he shouldn’t be baiting him but honestly, it was a little stupid.

The man smiled calmly. “Hopefully they won’t be necessary, Mr. Stilinski,” he replied. Once the man said his name, Stiles realized it was the same man from the phone. Son of a bitch. “I would much rather we find a solution to our little problem peacefully.”

“Really?” Stiles said skeptically. “That’s why you locked me in here?”

Jeremy tutted. “Please, allow me to explain.” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Once the door closed, lights flared on, filling the room and blinding Stiles. “I understand your pack has made an exciting discovery,” he said pleasantly, strolling towards him with his hands clasped behind his back. “I have been sent from my alpha to entreat you to share your findings on the matter with us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles lied. He suspected Jeremy had heard about Paige and wanted to reincarnate someone of his own, but like hell was he going to help him. If Jeremy was willing to kidnap a member of a rival pack just to ask him a question, there was no telling what he was capable of.

Jeremy sighed. “Really, Mr. Stilinski, it is so very annoying of you to deny it. You see, my alpha has heard news of a human travelling the state looking for answers on reincarnation. Imagine how tickled he was to discover that you had, in fact, reincarnated a female who died over ten years ago! And in perfect condition too, really, it could not be more remarkable.”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably as Jeremy walked over to him. “That’s the thing though,” he said. “We don’t know how it happened, so I’m not exactly the guy to talk to.”

“Now don’t hold out on us, Stiles,” Jeremy said, hooking an arm around him chummily. “My alpha has someone who he’d dearly love to see again, and I have been instructed to do anything I need to get him some answers. So why don’t you just tell me all about this little miracle?”

The arm wrapped around him felt like a weight on Stiles’ back. What was with these people and the bad touching? He wished he were anywhere but here. He had no answers he could give this man, but they obviously believed that he could somehow help them. He was afraid of what would happen when they realized he really didn’t know anything. Nothing had turned violent yet, but there was no guarantee how long that would last.

“I can’t,” Stiles said, attempting to shrug Jeremy’s arm off. “Someone did it for us, we don’t even know how.” He winced immediately. _That was stupid,_ he berated himself.

Jeremy’s arm tightened. “Oh?” he asked sharply. “And who was this special someone?”

Stiles hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Oh, I think you do,” Jeremy said menacingly. “I think you know exactly who did this, and I think you’re going to tell me. If you don’t, things will get very unpleasant for you. We’ve kept this cordial, haven’t we? You haven’t been harmed. But you give me the name or you’ll find this a lot less enjoyable.”

“I can’t,” Stiles lied. “I really don’t know who it was.”

Jeremy sighed in disappointed. “I had hoped to avoid this, Stiles,” he said as he snapped a finger. The door immediately opened and several people, including the woman from before, filed in. “We’ll find her either way, you know. You might have spared yourself some pain.”

At that, Jeremy let go of Stiles. Stiles darted forward towards the door only to be tackled by a burly man. Stiles yelped and thrashed desperately. There were too many, however. The man held Stiles in place while another man clapped shackles around his ankles. They dragged him up and toward the wall, clasping his hands in manacles and hanging them from the wall. When they were finished, he was as tightly trussed as a pig in a butcher’s shop, and he suspected that was exactly what he was.

The group stepped back and Jeremy smiled again. “We’ll give you a little time to think,” he said. “After a few hours, when you can no longer feel your arms and the pain is really starting to set in, we will talk again and see what you have to say.”

With that, the group turned and left. When the door had shut behind them, the lights turned off and Stiles was plunged into darkness once more.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Stiles had no way of knowing how long he hung there. At first, he tried anything he could think of to get his arms free. He had heard that if you dislocated your wrists you could get out of handcuffs, but these were much sturdier. Besides, with him hanging a foot above the ground it was hard to get his arms in the right position to attempt it.

Eventually, he gave up. He thought of his father, and how worried he would be if he realized Stiles had been kidnapped. He wondered if anyone even suspected anything was wrong. Stiles had planned to spend all afternoon at the library, and had told his father that he wouldn’t be home until around 9 or 10 that night. That was still hours away. And what’s more, it would probably be at least an hour after that before his father decided that Stiles wasn’t just running late. If you added in the hour and a half it took to make the drive, Stiles was in deep trouble.

Stiles was in the middle of counting seconds to try and pass the time when the door opened again. Jeremy stepped through and, just as before, the lights flared on. Stiles flinched, knocking his head against the wall. He swore loudly as his head pounded even more.

Jeremy laughed. “How are we doing?” he asked, striding forward. “I hope you’ve had time to think about your options.”

“You know, if you asked me like a normal human being I might have helped you,” Stiles snapped. “But going all Guantanamo on me is not exactly encouraging me to give you her name.”

Jeremy looked flustered for a moment, before shaking it off. “No matter,” he said smoothly. “You will still tell me.” He walked to the table and stood, considering it. “This is a delicate matter, you know,” he said conversationally. “So many think it’s simply a matter of brute force. Whoever hits the hardest gets the job done. But there’s a finesse to it. What good would you be, after all, with a broken jaw?”

Stiles couldn’t help it; he flinched. Jeremy chuckled. “I see you agree. Well, let’s see. I hope you appreciate the skill during our little conversation. I have spent many years training, just as any master artisan would. I’m hoping to consider you my masterpiece.” Jeremy picked up a long, wicked looking knife and returned to Stiles.

Stiles strained back as best he could. He knew it was hopeless. He could barely move, and he couldn’t feel his arms anymore. But he couldn’t help it. The idea of just hanging there, waiting for whatever Jeremy chose to do to him, was horrifying.

Jeremy leaned forward and grabbed Stiles jaw, inspecting his face. “You have quite a mouth, you know,” he said softly. “I’m sure many have admired it. I confess, I am looking forward to when you break, hearing the noises you will scream, the profanities, the pleas for help. I imagine you look beautiful when you scream.”

“Fuck off,” Stiles gasped. He didn’t care anymore. If he was going to be tortured, he wanted to get it over with already. The anticipation was killing him. Jeremy knew that, too, he realized as he watched Jeremy’s pupils darken. He was getting off on the feeling of power, the knowledge that he could draw this out as long as he wanted.

Carefully, as if he were setting a paintbrush to canvas, Jeremy pressed the edge of his knife to Stiles’ ribcage. “Tell me, Mr. Stilinski,” Jeremy said, “who brought Paige Krasikeva back to life?”

Without taking a moment to think, Stiles spat on Jeremy’s face. Jeremy’s face contorted with rage, Stiles’ spit dripping down his cheek as he snarled, teeth coming out. He slashed his knife across Stiles’ belly in a long thin swipe. Stiles gasped, the pain overwhelming him. The cut didn’t seem to be deep, but it hurt.

“I had hoped you would be more agreeable,” Jeremy said sadly. “But I can make this work as well.” He slashed his arm again, this time in a straight line down Stiles’ belly, making a cross. Stiles was not especially religious. His mother had been Catholic, and he had gone to Mass with her as a child because his father worked Sundays. He had stopped when she died, the memories of attending church with her too painful. But still, sometimes he would throw up a quick prayer in case God still listened to him whenever things looked especially bleak. The cross on his stomach seemed a mockery of any help he could hope to receive. Here, in a basement far away from home with no one to hear him scream, he was beyond salvation.

Jeremy licked the knife clean, taking time to ensure he had lapped up every last drop.

“That is disgusting,” Stiles babbled, desperately trying to distract himself from the pain. Although he supposed if he could distract Jeremy too that would be a bonus. “Can werewolves get HIV? Because I know you have advanced immune systems, but the disease weakens it. I would assume that even your super speedy immune system would get weakened to the point of being normal again. You wanna take that chance? You don’t know my medical history.”

Jeremy punched Stiles in the face. “Shut up unless you want to tell me the name,” he snarled. Jeremy stomped to the table again, slamming the knife down and picking up a screw. Stiles wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do with that, but it was undoubtedly going to be unpleasant.

“Do you know what I can do with this?” Jeremy asked pleasantly, all signs of his anger from a moment before gone.

“Housework?” Stiles suggested.

Jeremy punched him in the stomach this time, and licked the blood from his cuts off his fist. “Delicious,” he purred. “I hope to have much more.”

Shit, this was fucked up.

Jeremy raised the screw and pressed it against Stiles’ foot. He had just barely begun to exert pressure when there was a loud crash outside. The door was abruptly ripped from its hinges and thrown to the side as Derek ran in, looking angrier than Stiles had ever seen him. Scott and Cora ran in behind him, howling. Outside, Stiles saw the Aiden/Ethan hybrid tossing a man to the ground as an arrow went whistling by.

Derek roared, challenging. Jeremy threw the screw to the side and stalked forward without giving Stiles a second thought, changing easily into his werewolf form. Terrifying as Jeremy had been to Stiles, however, the fight seemed particularly unfair. Jeremy was a beta, and smaller and weaker than Derek’s alpha form. Add in the fact that Derek seemed to be running on rage, and Jeremy didn’t have a shot in hell. He barely got a slash in on Derek’s arm before Derek twisted his arm behind him, breaking it. Derek threw him to the ground and stepped out of the way as Lydia bolted in and quickly drew a line of wolfsbane around Jeremy while he healed.

“You bitch!” Jeremy screamed furiously. “How dare you, you filthy human?”

Lydia rolled her eyes, and darted out again.

As soon as it was clear that Jeremy had been subdued, Scott ran over to Stiles and examined the manacles.

Do either of you know how to undo these?” he asked. Cora shook her head. Derek walked over and ripped the chain from the wall. Stiles dropped like a rock. Derek leaped forward, catching him in his arms.

“Maybe you could have gotten the ones on the feet first, buddy,” Stiles said hoarsely. He was fairly sure he had been running on adrenaline the last few hours, because while before he felt mostly fear and pain, all he could feel now was a bone-deep exhaustion.

Scott rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, man,” he said. He knelt down, and tore the chain apart, ripping open the manacles. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah, of course,” Stiles snorted, gingerly climbing out of Derek’s arms – which, even in his exhausted, traumatized state, felt completely perfect and a little bit like home. The moment he tried to put weight on his feet, however, he dropped again, Scott and Derek just barely catching him.

“Scott, where’s your mom?” Derek asked urgently.

“I got her!” Cora said, running back into the room. Stiles hadn’t even seen her leave. Mrs. McCall was right behind her.

“Okay, we can’t move him too much,” she said. “Your father is on the phone with the police, and a team should be here any minute.”

Stiles blinked. It hurt his head. “The police? What are they going to do?”

“We weren’t really sure what had you,” Scott said. “It could have been something human. We didn’t want to wait to find out. Plus you should really get to a hospital, and how would we explain these injuries?”

“Yeah, but what are we going to tell them?” Stiles asked. “Also, can I sit down? I am dead on my feet right now.”

Derek helped him sit, the cool concrete a relief against his skin. He sat with his back propped against Derek’s legs, taking comfort in the sturdy weight against his back.

“Crazed occultists who were convinced that you held all the answers to their imagined magical dilemmas,” Scott said brightly. “When Derek called Berkeley and found out that there was no one named Jeremy Kraft on staff there, they were horrified to learn someone had been impersonating a member of the staff. That’ll support your story in court.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles said. “But what about the fact that they’re werewolves? I doubt they’ll stay in prison for long, if they end up there at all.”

Scott grinned. “We have a solution for that too! Lydia found a spell last week when she was going through some books for Paige, and we brought it along on a whim in case we might need it. We did a lot of strategizing in the car.”

Lydia strode in, holding a heavy tome. Allison and Isaac trailed behind her, carrying two white candles and a small bag.

“Last, but not least,” she said sweetly before beginning to chant in Latin. Allison blew out one candle, then the other. Isaac reached inside the bag and threw a handful of a gray dust over Jeremy. A moment later, Lydia stopped chanting, and closed the book shut with a satisfied thud.

“There,” she said, pleased. “That’ll do it.”

“What?” Stiles asked. “Nothing happened.”

Jeremy snarled and threw himself forward. The sound was different than what Stiles had become used to. It was weak, quiet, and held no real power behind it. Scott ran toward them as Jeremy hurled over the line of wolfsbane and reached for Lydia. Scott tackled him to the ground, pinning his arms behind his back.

“Rope,” he panted, holding out a hand. Allison strode forward and knocked his hand out of the way.

“You know I’m better at this,” she muttered as she efficiently tied Jeremy’s wrists together.

“We took away his wolf,” Lydia explained to Stiles. “We already did the same for his little friends out in the hall. This way, they can be prosecuted and sent to prison like the scum they are, and it will be just as horrible for them as they deserve. And their pack won’t try to save them because now that they’re human, they won’t be considered worth coming for.”

“You came up with that in an hour?” Stiles asked wonderingly.

Lydia shrugged. “Nothing fires the creative juices like anger and a thirst for revenge.”

The conversation continued around them, and Stiles began to drift. Here, surrounded by his pack and his family, he finally felt safe enough to close his eyes.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Stiles awoke to the sound of beeping. He blinked, the harsh light hurting his head.

“Where am I?” he croaked, trying and failing to sit up.

His father stepped into view. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly. “You’re in a hospital. You’ve been asleep for a few hours.”

“Oh.” Stiles looked around, realizing the beeping had been coming from a heart monitor. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“You should be released before the end of the day,” the Sheriff replied. “I am going to need you to give your statement to a deputy. They should be by in an hour or two.”

“Okay,” Stiles said sleepily. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

His father smiled and ran a hand over Stiles’ head. “Sure. I’ll be here.”

The next time he woke, he saw his father and a young deputy speaking quietly in the corner. They appeared to be arguing about something, although they spoke too softly for Stiles to hear.

“What’s going on?” he mumbled blearily, wiping at his eyes.

His father turned to him. “Hey Stiles,” he said, hurrying over. “This is Deputy Millis. She’s going to ask you a few questions about what happened.”

The woman walked over. “Hello, Mr. Stilinski,” she said politely, sitting down in a chair next to him and pulling out a tape recorder. “Your father has told me a lot about you. We’ll try and get through this as fast as we can, okay? Whenever you’re ready, just tell me in your own words what happened.”

Stiles glanced at his dad, who nodded once. Okay then. “I got a call from the Berkeley library yesterday,” he began.

When it was over, after he had signed his statement and his father showed Deputy Millis out, he slumped back onto his bed.

“That was exhausting,” he grumbled, running a hand over his face. “Did I do okay?”

Sheriff Stilinski smiled. “You did great. Do you want to sleep some more?”

“No, I’m okay,” Stiles said. “Can I eat something? I’m starving.”

His father nodded and stood up again. “I’ll go see if I can smuggle you some pudding from the cafeteria.”

“Chocolate!” Stiles called after his father as he left. As if there were any other kind.

He sat, fidgeting, uncomfortable in the noisy silence of the hospital. He couldn’t get the TV to work, and his phone was in his bag across the room. He was about to fall asleep from sheer boredom when his door opened and Paige slipped in.

“Hi, Stiles,” she said awkwardly, fidgeting with the door handle. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, you know,” he shrugged. “Not horrible.”

Paige suddenly burst into tears, and stumbled forward towards him. “I’m so sorry!” she cried, sniffling.

“What – why?” Stiles asked desperately. In the grand tradition of men everywhere, women crying made him very uncomfortable. “Paige, what’s wrong?”

“It’s my fault,” she sniffed, blowing her nose. “You were there because of me, and they tortured you because of me, and none of this would have happened if I had just stayed dead…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Stiles said firmly. “I’m glad you’re back, and I know the rest of the pack is too. You’re good for us, and what’s more, you deserve another chance at life. I would do it all over again if I had to.” He paused. “Although I would, you know, prefer not to.”

Paige blinked. Her face was red and blotchy, and she clutched a tissue to her chest as if it were the only thing holding her together right now. “Do you mean it? Weren’t things simpler before?”

Stiles barked a laugh. “No, not really,” he said. “Nothing’s been simple since Scott was bitten when we were sixteen, and maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome by now, but I like it that way. I like that our lives are interesting and that I have more to worry about than declaring my major. Plus, even if I didn’t, you’re good for Derek. I know” - He gulped, and forced the words out – “I know how much you care for each other. He’s happy. And that’s more important than a little extra research, or a small kidnapping.”

Paige giggled and perched on the chair next to him. She didn’t lean back, as if she were still afraid to settle in. “Thanks, Stiles,” she said softly. “That means a lot to me that you said that.” She frowned, and tilted her head. “What do you mean, though, about Derek? We aren’t – I mean, we were, but –“ She shook her head, and tried again. “There’s nothing going on with us. There hasn’t been since I died.”

Stiles furrowed his brow. “But why? You love each other, don’t you?”

Paige sighed. “It’s not that simple, Stiles. Part of us will always love each other, I suspect. But he’s grown up. And I need time to figure out how to live again. Besides, how can you say that, of all people? Do you really not know –" She cut herself off, and bit her lip, looking guilty.

“What are you talking about?” Stiles asked. “Do I really not know what?”

Paige shook her head. “You should really talk to Derek.” She stood. “I’ll see you later, Stiles. Feel better.” She quickly kissed the top of his head and walked out.

“Hey!” Stiles yelled after her. “You can’t leave me hanging like that! I’m bedridden!”

“Don’t be melodramatic, Stiles,” his father said as he walked in, carrying two pudding cups. “You’re not exactly an invalid.”

“Well that’s rude,” Stiles said crossly, and held out a hand for his pudding. “I am in a very delicate state right now.”

His father snorted. “Okay, sure.”

His dad insisted on driving him straight home once he was released. Stiles protested a little – he wanted to talk to Derek about what Paige meant, but he also maybe didn’t want to at all, if it was not what he wanted to hear. In the end, it didn’t matter. His big plans of sneaking out once his dad left for work were foiled when he immediately fell asleep once sitting down on his bed.

When he woke, it was dark. He wasn’t sure what had woken him, but he got up, went to the bathroom, changing the bandage on his chest, and collapsed into bed again. He wondered briefly why his father would have left his bedroom window open, but he was too tired to close it.

He didn’t wake again until almost noon the next day. Stiles yawned, and stumbled out of bed and down the stairs. He was too sleepy to try to make anything substantial, so he rooted around in the back of the pantry for where his dad hid the Cocoa Puffs and poured himself a large bowl.

Stiles had just settled in at the kitchen table when the back door opened, and Derek walked in.

“Uh, hey, dude,” Stiles said, hastily swallowing. “What’s up?”

Derek looked a little flustered to see him there. “Stiles,” he stuttered. The moment of indecision was quickly covered by a scowl. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

Stiles rose an eyebrow. “I haven’t eaten in almost an entire day,” he pointed out before waving a spoon in Derek’s direction. “Why are you here if you thought I would be asleep?”

Derek flushed magnificently. Stiles was secretly infatuated with how Derek blushed, on the rare occasions he did. It rose along his neck from under his Henley, to cover his face to the tips of his ears. It was beautiful.

“I wanted to check on you,” he gritted out.

Stiles smiled. Maybe it was a little optimistic, but suddenly he had a feeling that he knew what Paige had been trying to say. “Do you want some?” he asked. “I can pour you a bowl.” 

Derek hesitated, and Stiles, sensing his weakness, went in for the kill. “Don’t tell me you’re not dying for some. I bet all you have at your house is disgusting all-natural bran stuff.”

Derek huffed and walked over to the cabinet, getting himself out a bowl. He sat down opposite Stiles at the table. “It’s good for me,” he said, pouting a little.  
Stiles laughed. “Yeah, but at what cost?” He took an extra large spoonful to prove his point.

They ate in peaceful silence for a few minutes. Derek was very soothing to be around, Stiles decided. Even when they were doing nothing, it had always relaxed him to just be in his presence. He wondered if it was some magic werewolf pheromone thing.

“So,” he said eventually, once he had drained his bowl. “I saw Paige at the hospital yesterday.”

Derek paused, bowl lifted halfway to his mouth. He set it down again. “Yeah?” he asked cautiously.

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded. “I hope she’s okay. She was blaming herself a lot.”

Derek relaxed the death grip he had going on his spoon. “I think she’s doing better,” he said. “She was really worried about you.”

“She’s a great person,” Stiles said. “I can see why young Derek Hale loved her.”

Derek nodded stiffly, his eyes not leaving Stiles’ face.

“Does – that is, I mean – does old Derek Hale love her?” Stiles asked finally, ducking his face to stare at his cereal bowl. Man, cereal was interesting. Was it hot in here? How long was Derek going to wait to answer? Stiles knew this was stupid. Of course Derek still loved her. Why wouldn’t he? Stiles hoped Derek would just leave quietly, and then maybe they could never talk about this horrible conversation again.

Finally, the silence proved too much for Stiles’ curiosity, and he glanced up. Derek was smiling slightly. “Old Derek Hale?” he asked, amusement plain in his voice. “I’m old now?”

Stiles huffed. “Don’t make fun of me,” he pleaded. “Come on, man, I know you know what I’m getting at. If you do, that’s cool, whatever, but please, just don’t make fun of me. This is hard for me.” He started to get up, and turned to put his bowl by the sink. When he turned around, Derek was right behind him, his eyes intense and focused.

“No,” Derek said quietly. “I don’t. Not in that way, not anymore. How could you think – Isn’t it obvious that I – how I feel?”

“I don’t know, you’re like reading a brick wall sometimes,” Stiles said helplessly. He could feel the heat of Derek’s body, wrapping him up in a blanket of security. He wanted to burrow into Derek’s scent, live there. “Whenever I think I know what’s going on, I’m usually wrong.”

Derek huffed. “You got that right,” he muttered before reaching out and wrapping a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, reeling him in. “I care about you,” Derek said firmly, staring right into Stiles’ eyes. Stiles had never seen him look so serious and so happy at the same time. “I have for a long time now. You are the only one I want to be with. No one else. I can’t even imagine anyone else in my life anymore. You’ve ruined me a little.” He paused, his face turning uncertain. “Say something, please?” he whispered.

Stiles was flabbergasted. Even when he thought it was a possibility, he never really thought he could have this, that he would be so lucky. It felt like this was happening to someone else, and he just happened to be there. “Really?” he asked, voice small.

“Really,” Derek assured him. “Do you – what do you think?”

Stiles grinned and threw himself forward, closing the gap between them. He couldn’t help it – he had waited for this moment for what felt like his entire life. Like maybe the reason he was alive at all was so he could one day be standing here in his kitchen, with Derek Hale in his arms, asking him to love him.

“I think,” he whispered, mouth just centimeters away from Derek’s, “that I am very on board with this.” He surged forward and kissed Derek, softly, like they had all the time in the world for passion later, when Stiles wasn’t still dead on his feet, and they had gone on a proper date, and told Stiles’ father.

And the incredible thing? They did.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Scott, I need you to help me!” Stiles wailed into the phone. “You are failing in your duties as Best Friend right now. I am betrayed.”

“I don’t know, Stiles!” Scott said, exasperated. “How should I know what you should wear?”

“You’ve seen every item of clothing I own, Scott!” Stiles exclaimed. “How hard is it? Which one makes you want to bone me? Hypothetically?”

“You’re going to make me sick,” Scott said, horrified. “I need us to stop speaking now.” He hung up, and Stiles gaped at his phone before throwing it onto the pile of clothing on his bed.

Stiles’ father knocked on his door before poking his head in. “Aw, Jesus, kid,” he grumbled. “You better pick this up.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Don’t start with me!” he exclaimed. “I am in a panic, and I cannot worry about that right now.”

The Sheriff rolled his eyes in turn, and opened the door wider. “He’s all yours,” he said before hurrying down the stairs again.

Allison and Lydia bounced in, shopping bags in each arm. “Hi Stiles!” Allison said cheerfully. “We’re here to save you from yourself.”

“More specifically, your clothing,” Lydia said primly, eying his clothing pile with distaste. She shoved a bag in his arms and pushed him towards the bathroom. “Put these on and we’ll evaluate.”

Stiles grumbled a little but he was glad for the help. Tonight was his and Derek’s first real date, and he wanted it to be perfect. They had barely had a free moment in the two weeks since Stiles had returned home from the hospital. A rogue werewolf had come through town a few days after Stiles and Derek’s Epic Declaration of Love (Derek insisted that he had to stop calling it that, but Stiles was pretty sure he didn’t really mean it. The kissing that always followed supported this theory.) and the pack had had to negotiate his passing through the area. He had wanted to try to make a more permanent residence here, and was reluctant to continue on his way. Derek had been particularly protective until they had sent the rogue on his way. Despite Stiles’ insistence that he was perfectly fine now, thank you, Derek hadn’t allowed Stiles to play any part in the negotiations, claiming that Stiles was still injured and couldn’t be trusted not to injure himself in another horrible way.

Stiles protested, but secretly, he felt warmed by the idea of Derek looking after him. Plus, every night, Derek would come by to check on him and they would cuddle and watch movies together and it was amazing.

But now they were finally going to go on a Real Date, and Stiles was a little terrified. What if Derek changed his mind? What if Stiles did something so awkward and terrible that Derek realized he was dating a huge loser and never wanted to see him again? The possibilities for humiliating himself seemed endless.

Lydia stopped her fussing with his hair and poked him. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said imperiously, “and shut up. Derek cares about you, and honestly, neither of you could do better. You make each other happy, and tonight is going to go perfectly, and then you’ll continue to annoy everyone with your stupid happiness.”

Stiles grinned. “It’s sweet when you care, Lyds,” he said.

Lydia scowled. “Stop it.”

By the time Derek rang the doorbell, Stiles had already talked himself out of going three times. Every time he thought about Derek’s face, and how he had looked last night when he fell asleep during the third Harry Potter movie – heathen, honestly – when he curled up in Stiles’ arms. Stiles wanted to see that every day for the rest of his life, preferably.

He threw open the door, and his jaw dropped. Derek looked delectable. Stiles thought he had become sort of immune to Derek’s unbelievable looks over the years, but he could never have been prepared for this. Derek was wearing a pair of dark grey trousers that hugged his legs in a way that Stiles was certain should not be allowed. He wore a maroon dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, highlighting those forearms that Stiles had spent many a masturbatory fantasy drooling over.

Stiles realized suddenly that he needed to say something. “Hey,” he croaked out, waving awkwardly before shoving his hand in his pocket. A wave? Seriously? Get it together, Stilinski.

“Hey,” Derek said finally. His eyes looked a little glazed over, and Stiles suddenly felt secure in the knowledge that if he was acting like a moron, at least he wasn’t the only one.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, reaching forward and grabbing Derek’s hand. “Allison and Lydia are taking pictures of us from the stairs.”

“Hey!” Allison called out. “Uncalled for!”

Derek grinned, and tugged Stiles close, leaning forward to kiss Stiles, gently, then hungrily. His tongue demanded entrance, and Stiles gladly opened his mouth to accommodate him. It felt like Derek was devouring him, and Stiles couldn’t get enough. He let out a tiny whimpering sound when Derek pulled away.

“Sorry,” Derek said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “I couldn’t wait until the end of the night to do that.”

Stiles followed him to the car, smiling hugely.

The restaurant Derek had chosen was one of the nicer ones in the city. Stiles felt a little lost when he got there, but he trailed after Derek as the hostess led them to their table.

“Wow,” he said, staring at the menu with wide eyes. Man that was an expensive bowl of pasta. What could make pasta that expensive? Were all the noodles handmade in Italy? Were they magic? “This is a nice place.”

Derek understood the unheard question, and reached out to hold Stiles’ hand on the table. “This is important to me,” he said quietly. “I wanted it to be special.”

Wow, and Stiles would never, ever get tired of hearing that he was special to Derek. Not ever.

They had just been served their salads when Stiles realized a familiar woman was striding towards them, a determined expression on her face.

“Mrs. Halliwell?” he asked confusedly when she reached their table.

“Hello, boys!” she replied, tugging a chair away from the table next to them and pulling it up. “I just returned home from my retreat and my husband informed me you had left a great many messages for me. I hurried over just as soon as I finished scrying for you.”

Stiles shot Derek a panicked look. Derek shrugged unhelpfully, and ate a bite of salad.

“Uh, right,” he said. “We, uh, had some questions about Paige.”

“Of course you did!” she cried, shaking her head. “Really, I should have explained before I left, but we were so eager to begin our retreat. Why, our auras alone were just a mess.”

“Right, of course,” Stiles said politely. “But Paige?”

Mrs. Halliwell nodded, and took a sip from Stiles’ water glass. “Well, I imagine you have two questions, my dear. Why Paige and for how long, am I right?” She smiled at Derek and patted his arm. “I know you’ve lost a great many people, especially for a soul as young as yours.”

Derek grimaced, and put his fork down. Stiles ached in sympathy. He knew Derek hated talking about his family, especially in casual conversations with virtual strangers.

“The thing is,” she continued, blithely unaware of Derek’s discomfort, “the spell was intended to give you a chance to fix a major tragedy in your life by returning one of your lost ones to you, and giving you the opportunity to help them build a new life for themselves. Well, I just couldn’t bring only one of your family back. Who would I pick? Should your mother return, who still has so much to teach you? Or your baby cousin, who had his entire life in front of him? It would have been an impossible choice. Besides, your family is very happy together.”

Derek looked up. “What do you mean?”

Mrs. Halliwell laughed airily. “Why, they’re all together, of course! I can’t be as sure about your uncle,” she frowned, “I doubt he would be as welcomed. But everyone else, of course they’re together. They so enjoy watching over you and your sister, and taking solace in the comfort of being with family. I couldn’t tear one away from that peace.”

She took another sip of Stiles’ water, and continued. “But your Paige – she was alone. Not unhappy, exactly, because it’s very hard to be unhappy where they are, but she had no friends, no family to keep her company. It was not her time. And so I gave her back, to give the both of you another chance at life. I had hoped, of course, that by helping her you might learn to lessen the burden you carry. And I see it has worked already!”

She laughed again, and Stiles felt overwhelmed. From what she was saying, he assumed Paige was here to stay. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.

“So Paige,” he asked when it became apparent Derek was not going to say anything. “How long will she be here?”

“As long as she stays, my dear,” Mrs. Halliwell said vaguely. “I cannot guarantee she will die in her sleep at 98, any more than I could for any of you. But it is not temporary, if that is what you mean. She is alive again, well and truly.”

“Thank you,” Derek said, his voice a little awed. Stiles realized how heavily this had been weighing on Derek. First Paige’s death, then the thought that she might only be with them for a limited time. He was relieved that Derek could maybe let go of the horrible circumstances surrounding Paige’s death, and finally begin to heal.

Mrs. Halliwell drifted off in a flurry of exclamations and hugs. Stiles looked at Derek, and then his salad, before looking up again.

“Well, that was unexpected,” he said when it became clear Derek did not intend to speak first.

Derek laughed. “Are you still hungry?” he asked, a gleam in his eyes. “All this conversation has tired me out.”

“Oh no,” Stiles said seriously. “We can’t have that.”

When they arrived back at the Hale house – to absolutely no surprise of Stiles’ – he had barely made it through the door before Derek pinned him against it, mouthing wetly at his neck.

“Derek – urggh – uh Derek,” he panted, pushing futilely at Derek’s head. “Is Paige home?”

Derek lifted his head briefly. “No,” he said simply, before kissing him fiercely.

Stiles felt lost in Derek’s mouth, the feel of his body pressed against his, grounding him. There was nothing else in the world in that moment, just the knowledge that this was real, he could be this happy, imprinted on him with every kiss and shiver.

“Okay,” he croaked eventually, pulling his mouth away. “Lead the way, cowboy.”

Derek swooped in and picked Stiles up, slinging him over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Stiles yelped, swatting at Derek’s butt. “I am no maiden! I am a man! I do not get carried!”

Derek ignored him and continued up the stairs until they arrived at his bedroom, where Derek dropped Stiles on the bed. He bounced a little before scooting up towards the head, wiggling.

“That’s more like it,” he said, leering up at Derek. He crooked a finger imperiously. “Come on, now you.”

Derek climbed on top of him, straddling his legs. He silently reached for Stiles’ shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it behind him on the floor. Stiles tried to get Derek’s buttons undone, but his shaking fingers prevented him from doing anything. Derek growled impatiently, and tore it over his head before leaning for Stiles again.

Stiles could feel the stiff line of Derek’s cock poking against him as Derek ground down on him. “Pants,” Stiles gasped. “We’re still wearing them.”

Derek scooted away, and Stiles whimpered again. Derek shot him an amused look before darting in to kiss him again. By the time they pulled apart, Stiles was panting, and he honestly believed that if he did not get Derek’s hands on him _right now_ he might die.

He wiggled out of his pants, kicking them off when they got caught on his shoes. When he was finally naked he got on his knees and crawled toward Derek, poking him in the belly.

“Hurry up, you,” he said crossly. “You don’t need to fold them, keep up.”

Derek glanced over, and his eyes went dark and hooded. He abruptly tossed the pants he had been folding along the creases – honestly, just why – behind him as he pinned Stiles to the mattress.

“Mine,” he growled as he mouthed at Stiles’ neck.

“Yours, yours,” Stiles gasped as he canted his hips up, desperately trying to get enough friction. “I’m all yours.”

Derek kissed him again, deeply, and yet gently. Stiles felt a little overwhelmed by the emotion he felt behind it. This was not something casual, for either of them. Stiles was never going to have something casual again. From now on, he was set. All he needed was Derek, for the rest of his life.

“Derek,” he whimpered, “I need, I need –"

“What do you need?” Derek whispered tenderly, even as his hips ground down on Stiles, his hot cock dragging along Stiles’ stomach in a delicious wet slide.

“Anything,” Stiles cried. “I need you, come on, Derek.”

“I don’t know if I can – I’m not going to last, baby,” Derek said reluctantly, gasping as Stiles hooked his legs around Derek’s waist and ground up.

“I don’t care,” Stiles said frantically. “Just – come on. I need you to touch me. I need it.”

Derek licked a long stripe down his hand before wrapping it around Stiles’ cock. He gasped, chasing the feeling of Derek’s hand on him.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he cried. “Yeah, please, give it to me, come on.”

Derek growled and twisted his hand as he pulled, making Stiles scream. “Okay, well played,” he gasped.

“I want to hear it,” Derek said, staring down at Stiles. “I want to hear how much you want me. I need to hear you beg for it, scream for it.”

Stiles shuddered at the heat in Derek’s voice, and whimpered again. “I do, I need you,” he babbled inanely. “Only you, always you. Think about you all the time, your tight ass, and God – your arms, on me, touching me. I need you on me, always, I need to always feel like this, with you.”

Derek rumbled in approval and began sucking on Stiles’ neck, licking the bruise lightly afterward. He tugged one more time on Stiles’ cock, grinding his hips down at the same time, and Stiles felt his orgasm coming, a tide coming over him he couldn’t escape. It washed over him, drowning his senses, so all he felt was the pleasure of being taken by Derek, one with this man he loved, against all odds.

When he came to, he blinked hazily at Derek. “Do you need me to-?” He gestured at Derek’s cock, and Derek flushed, looking shifty. Stiles took a moment to revel in the fact that Derek did, in fact, blush all over as he had suspected, before realizing that Derek was covered in a mess of his own.

“Did you just –?” Stiles asked, a little awed. The idea that he could have that much influence over this incredible man was astounding. Stiles also felt a little proud of himself. Take that, anxious middle school self! A hot piece of action like Derek Hale wanted him that much, so there.

“Shut up,” Derek mumbled, ducking his head in Stiles’ neck.

Stiles laughed, and petted Derek’s hair. “I am nothing but flattered, man,” he assured him.

They stayed like that for some time, simple reveling in each other’s presence and the fact that they were here, in this place, after all this time. They lay there for about a half an hour before Stiles’ stomach rumbled.

“Derek?” he asked.

“I heard it,” Derek’s voice was muffled by Stiles’ neck. “I think I have some food downstairs.”

Stiles patted Derek’s hair one last time before bounding out of bed. “Let’s go then!” he said happily. “I was too nervous to eat lunch, and I’m starving.”

Derek smiled, his head propped up on one arm as he lay there, staring at Stiles. “I suppose you’re always going to be this bossy,” he said mildly.

“Of course I am,” Stiles agreed, tugging on a pair of sweatpants he had dug out of Derek’s drawer. There was no way he was getting back in his dress pants. He wiggled his eyebrows. “You think you can handle it, Hale?” he asked ominously.

Derek laughed. “I guess we’ll see,” he said before climbing out of bed and leaning forward to gently kiss Stiles.

And yeah. Stiles guessed they will. 

_**Fin.** _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on tumblr at abravelittletoaster :)


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